That God**mn Bakenhaster.

Note: The names have been changed in this story, mainly because I have no idea if those involved would approve of the retelling. That said, many of you will know exactly who I’m talking about.

Years ago I coached with a guy (let’s call him Bakenhaster) who taught PE at the school and had a particular basketball parent that really, really disliked him. I’m not really sure why, but the guy probably thought Coach Bakenhaster was too tough on his son, yelled at him too much, blah-blah-blah. Anyway, this guy was constantly complaining about the coach to his wife, just bemoaning the fact that his son had to play for such a terrible human being. Every evening she heard about “that goddamned Bakenhaster” over and over. This actually went on for a few years.

W-e-l-l-l . . .

It was the beginning of the player in question’s senior year, and he had a little sister that was entering 1st grade. The evening after her first day of school everyone sat down at the dinner table. At this point the following conversation took place:

Dad: “Well Kelsey, how was your first day of school?”

Kelsey: “It was good. You’ll never guess who I have for gym class, though.”

Dad: “Who’s that, honey?”

Kelsey: “That goddamned Bakenhaster.”

Blank stares all-around.

She said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that only then did her parents realize that she believed it was his actual name. After all, that’s exactly what she’d heard her father call this guy for years.

Maybe they should have felt lucky she didn’t call him that to his face?

But hey, the life of a coach, huh? Oh, and parents? Be careful what you say in front of your kids.